Saline Away

Day 104

I'm really sorry that I've been out of touch for the last few days. I've been feeling really unlike myself for the last five days, as I'm sure you've figured out from the last few posts Chris has made. Well, my transplant doctor ordered x-rays to figure out what was going on with my gastrointestinal system. Absolutely nothing on the films. They said I was normal and that my problem was that the chemo had essentially stopped my peristaltem. The prescription they wrote me did the trick after six doses. It tastes like corn syrup and looks like Drano. Yummy. I keep asking Chris if he'd like to try some, but he's declined so far. I have one dose left, so I'll keep after him.

Enough about my tummy trouble. I have appointments tomorrow with my leukemia doctor, which means that I'll be going in for round six. I'm worried about the Cyterabin, since last time they started me on eye drops early to stop the eye problems I had before. I think in the confusion of the transplant, they forgot about the Cyterabin toxicity. I'll bring it up in the hospital and see what happens.

We went to the hospital tonight to get my pump disconnected. I was really looking forward to it, since the backpack is heavy considering the size of the saline bag I had to carry around. In addition to that, I have to be careful about how I handle it, since it's connected to my CVC. I had to sleep with the backpack perched on my pillow last night. Every time I woke up, I had to be sure that I didn't pull on the line coming from it. So, we were in a little room waiting for the nurse to come in and disconnect me. She came in with another huge bag of saline and a new pump. It turns out that Dr. Thomas had ordered a 48 hour prescription. I'm still connected and the backpack is perched next to me as I type. I can say that I am thoroughly hydrated. In fact, I've gained six pound since yesterday thanks to the infusion.

I wish I had more to report, but Chris and I are essentially in the dark about what's happening. I heard that I'm quite the legend in the transplant presentations. I'm sure that has more to do with Chris' relentless campaigning, than with me. A woman that works for the transplant center flew out into the hall yesterday while Chris and I were walking by. Before I knew it, she had wrapped me in an enormous bear hug and told me that she had presented my case to the transplant doctors four times. Chris had met her once before, so he wasn't surprised. It's strange, but people aren't shy about hugging you when you have cancer. When I'm introduced to people at MDA, I always reach out to shake hands, but people always grab me for a hug. Chris gets a handshake. I wonder what they're thinking. I don't mind the hugs, in fact I love hugs, it's just that it's strange how people just assume that you don't mind you're personal space being invaded.

Chris is also quite the legend. The head of transplants actually contacted him and asked for all of the letters that he had compiled from transplant doctors across the country. They're going to put them into a packet to help other patients that may find themselves in the same position we were in. He's done something amazing.

So we're infamous. Now I can start knocking over banks. Imagine it, sans eyebrows and eyelashes with a surgical mask and cap. No DNA evidence. It would be the perfect crime. Chris could drive the getaway car.

Or, we could just hang out in the apartment and watch movie rentals. Stay away from Smoking Aces. Horrible. Horrible. I felt like I needed to scrub my eyeballs after that one. The Last King of Scotland was intriguing, though.

We'll let everyone know what's going on as soon as we find out tomorrow. Good night.